The Dream
by BartyJnr
Summary: Bartemius Crouch Junior often has weird dreams, but this is the worst yet. BCJ/BB or BL, depending on whatever time line you read it as . Rated for Gore and Violence.


He sits in one corner of this.. well, cell is the only one word of a few he could think to use. Cell, Prison, cage, it was all the same to him. No matter what it was, it was dark, danky, scruffy and had a very strong Oder. A bit of everything, blood, burnt flesh, rotting flesh, sweat, tears, metal, leather, rust, and even sex. After a while of having to take this into his lungs, he had started to take one deep breath every so often and just hold his breath.

Having already tried to move and failed because of the metal binds and chains around his ankles and wrists, he has had no choice but to sit and think. Thinking had only brought fear, pain, anger and annoyance into him. How and why just leave him here? Who are they to do this to him? How did they figure him out so quickly? He had came to only two choices of who this could be. The Ministry of Magic, or Torchwood. Growling at that thought, the attempts to move again but just stumbles forward, leaning over just in time for the door to open and someone to stick a great sharp needle into his arm.

Moving a lot as the needle goes in, he growls and yells out at the person, uncaring about the hand that was in his hair, yanking his head to the side to make a clear space for the needle to go in. Feeling the world go cold and dark as the he feels the liquid run through his system and through both of his hearts.. no not hearts, heart quickly.

Awaking, he finds his luck no better. Stripped of his shirt and face down on a cold metal table. Turning his head to the right, he sees two people move over to hold down his arm, a tight grip as he can feel there nails dig into his arm. Suddenly he yells out as the same thing happens to his other arm, but the nails dig into his Dark Mark, making it burn. They don't know that though and one hand is used to go into his hair and hold his head down onto the table. Someone sits on his legs, or maybe two people, he cant tell, but knows that moving is this time impossible. Not only were the drugs still running through his system, but now he had a ton of people on him, nails digging into his Dark Mark, which wasn't stopping hurting, and knew that no one would hear him call even if he tried.

Jolting as he feels a blade pressed to his back, the muscles tightening where the blade runs, down his shoulder blades, a small cut, as if measuring. The same is done to the other shoulder blade and then he fears the worst as all the grips tighten. A blade, different from before, longer, bigger, harder, sharper. It is drove into his skin and he yells out, but he is ignored, the blade dragged down, cutting straight through all layers of his skin and muscles, tendanates, everything that stood in its way where cut down. Blood running down his back and sides, tears running down his cheeks as the method is repeated on his other shoulder blade. He can feel the blade scraping down his shoulder blade as it goes.

His body is shaking, the blood pouring down him and he hopes to die, from loss of blood right there and then, but they move quickly, another body moving to straddle the small of his back, just below where the gashes stop. Fingers travel into the gashes and he thrashes around in pain, but the fingers don't stop. The hands holding him tighten again.

The fingers seem to be searching his shoulder blades for something, and then his brain eventually kicks in. His Wings, they were forcing the morphing of his wings. This thought only made him thrash more, managing to throw one person from his legs but then he freezes. His back straightening and stretching, his shoulders cracking and morphing. Laughter from above him, obviously happy with themselves for finding the right part of his shoulder blades to touch to make them morph.

Eventually they leave him alone, Leaving him, after dosing him back up on drugs. He attempts to morph his wings back in but finds he can't because of a tag. That alone makes the tears run down his face again, Tagged by Muggles. What a Pure Blood Disgrace.

Jolting upright in his bed, Bartemius Crouch Junior sits, eyes wide, tears running down his face. His hand flies to his back, checking, but there are no scares where they would be if such an event had happened. He shudders and rubs his hands over his face. It had all seemed so Real... What in the hell was he thinking? He didn't have _Wings_!! The dream meant nothing... But even so, the dream had felt so real to Barty that he near on jumped a mile when a voice appears from beside him in the bed.

"Barty, love, whats wrong?" Bella's voice asked, soft, caring and slightly gruff from sleep. Barty smiles and shakes his head slightly, smiling down to her.

"Nothing Love, just a dream.. jus' a dream." he reapplies, his voice sounding harsh and gruff as he wipes the tears fro his face.

"Then come back here." Bella roughly tugs him down before then cuddling him in. Barty finds himself quickly falling back to sleep after kissing her soft lips once. The thought that maybe it wasn't Past but Future never passes through his mind... But of course, that was a ridiculous thought... wasn't it?


End file.
